K was moving to a town called Somewhere Colder.
Have you heard of it?
[It's north of here.]
For all thirteen years that I've known him, he's been on the verge of moving there.
[Or to Spain.]
Because of his imminent move, he has always been hesitant to commit to this place or to invest in anything close to permanence.
Build an addition on our house?
Perish. The. Thought.
Why would we build an addition when we are moments away from The Big Move?
[Not THIS kind of big move, toilet head.]
Anyway, moves (and movements) aside, K has all of a sudden decided to live here now.
It's his new motto.
He's been scheduling appointments with a realtor in order to find what he calls "our last house," the one we'll stay in until the end of this story.
"I only have one move left in me," he says.
Friends raise their eyebrows skeptically.
"Why now? What about the economy? Surely you don't want to get involved in the housing market now?!" they say.
I shake my head and smile.
K is a fussy home buyer and he makes decisions about as rapidly as plate tectonics shift continents.
We looked at sixty five houses before we made an offer on the one we own.
SIXTY. FIVE. HOUSES.
This time, I'm not looking.
"When you find one you like enough to buy, let me know," I told him.
New house or not, I'm glad he finally lives here... in this town... with us.
It's good to be home.